Easing the Guilt
by 100gamesvictor
Summary: The streets of York are not a safe place, as Brendan Trueblood very well knows. There are faeries, werewolves, vampires, and demons roaming around-not that he knows that. All he knows it that, one day he wakes up and a he is kidnapped by something. Now he has to work with the dwellers of the York Institute to find out what is happening in the Yorkshire Downworld, and stop it.
1. The Dream

Brendan Trueblood ran through the streets of York. The rain pelted down on him lightly. Ping, ping, ping, like small needles jabbing lightly into his skin, sometimes ricocheting off of the ground to hit the legs of his trousers or else off of the sides of objects on the side of the road to hit his body. It didn't hurt. Only his hands and face were exposed to the rain. However, Brendan always had a short tolerance for irritation and the slight jabbing, though short and quick, quickly drove him mad.

The street was deserted. Not surprising for a 7:00 on a Sunday, with this maddening rain. The gray streets, mixed with the dull brown of the buildings. On a sunny day, with people all around and the sun shining, reflecting off of the stones, the streets might be beautiful. But Brendan hadn't experienced a sunny day in all of his times in York. Constant cloud coverage. The sun never actually shone down on the dreary city. Brendan slowed down to a walk. He tilted his velvet black bowler hat down far enough so the blasted raindrops wouldn't hit his face.

_It could be worse,_ he thought. Gradually, the rain started to worsen. _Of course, _Brendan silently drawled. Larger puddles started to form in the streets, welling up in the cracks and crevices in the stone road. The rain began to blur Brendan's vision, making everything blurry and warped.

Be that as it may, Brendan was able to see a large building. At first glance, it too looked like a large blur. However, upon closer examination, it sharpened into focus. The building truly was grand, that much anyone would agree. There were towers rising into the sky like columns holding up heaven. The arched, stained glass windows looked like what Brendan envisioned the gates of heaven would look like, the stone breaks in the window looked like bars, completing the image. In between each pointed crenellation on the roof seemed to be standing an angel, though Brendan knew that it was only in his head.

Brendan compelled himself to look away. He had been moving forward unconsciously. He somehow knew that if he didn't leave immediately, he might never leave. He continued walking quickly. He forced himself not to look back. At the next street corner, he turned and discovered his refuge. A long tunnel. It looked to be the underside of a bridge. The tunnel was dark, but it would certainly provide protection from the rain.

Brendan ran as fast as he could, splashing rain up from the puddles and saturating his trousers and the bottom of his coat. Brendan paid no attention to it. He only had eyes for the tunnel, running towards it as if it were treasure.

As he entered the tunnel, Brendan slowed to a stop in the middle. He turned to the right and walked toward the wall. He leaned hi back against the wall and slid to the floor. He crossed his arms over his knees and looked around, breathing heavily. The tunnel was dark and damp. The pitter patter of the rain outside was clearly discernible, echoing off of the walls and magnifying in volume. Adding to that sound was a steady drip, drop, drip, drop. This also was magnified, so it was heard clearly. There were small puddles in the crevices of the stones, stagnant water that seemed to have been there for a long time. The place smelled damp and of wet stone. There was a chilled wind that ran through the air. Brendan felt Goosebumps forming on his skin, prickling him, but he shook it off. This was the best he could do. With that, he curled up into a ball and laid his head down on his bowler hat, which he used as a pillow, and tried to go to sleep. This was difficult because the cold floor was hard and damp, but eventually, Brendan fell into a restless sleep.

* * *

><p><em>Brendan was walking towards a brilliant light. Many feelings were flowing around Brendan. The most dominant one was unnamable. It was a strange feeling. It felt like a warm glow inside his chest. He couldn't describe the location. He seemed to be walking along a road of pure white. But the edges of his vision seemed yellow. There was no setting, like a pure white canvas before a painting has been created. All Brendan was certain of was that he had to keep moving forward. He had to keep persevering. For he knew, though he didn't know how that whatever the light held, would be indescribable, and amazing.<em>

_As he continued toward the light, the shape of the light became more defined. A shadow started to grow in the light. But instead of being depressing, the shadow seemed to make the light in his chest shine brighter. Soon enough, he was close enough to describe the shadow as a girl. Not long after the girl's features became noticeable._

_She was petite. That much was obvious by her size, maybe 5'9. Her golden hair fell in soft waves around her face and down to her mid back. Her eyes were a very dark blue the color of violets, a color that held a depth to them. But they were watery. Brendan was horrified by this. This angel should not cry. But then he noticed her warm and inviting smile, and knew that they were tears of joy. She wore a beautiful dark white dress with golden designs all over it that contrasted with her violet eyes beautifully. _

_And then she spoke. Her voice was a light soprano and warm and inviting. "Hello there, Brendon. You're almost there. Follow your heart and you'll find the way. You're tied to this, it's in your, blood. Just as it's in mine." she giggled, it sounded like wind chimes on a shining summer afternoon, and put her hand over her mouth. "Our meeting will not be under the best circumstances, but you must experience the bad to discover the good. Goodbye."_

_With that, she turned around. Instinctively, Brendan reached out to grab her, but she was already out of reach. As she disappeared into the light, the warmth faded and the light dimmed into blackness._

* * *

><p>Brendan woke up groggily the next morning. His eyelids were heavy and his limbs sore. He pushed himself up onto his elbows and looked towards the exit of the tunnel. Immediately, he was fully awake. He scrambled to his feet and brushed the dirt off of his coat and trousers. He picked up his bowler's hat and pushed it out, forcing it into the correct shape.<p>

The sun was shining. That was what had startled Brendan to begin with. The sun hadn't really shone once in all of his time in York. But today it was. The sun was shining and it seemed beautiful. Brendan had been right the night before. The stones in the distance did look beautiful with the sun reflecting off of them.

He began walking out into the sun, but he kept thinking about his dream in the back of his mind.

* * *

><p>Aloysius Starkweather was, for lack of a better word, bored. He was sitting in the Council room in London, waiting for a trial to begin. He knew that the trial was for a lass. She was supposed to have been passing shadowhunter secrets over to the Mortmain. Aloysius just didn't understand it. Despite what the girl did, she was a <em>shadowhunter<em>! The Mortmain wanted to kill all shadowhunters, and no matter what she was told, that included her.

Aloysius' thought process caused him to miss the beginning of the Council meeting. Shaking his head, he focused his attention back on the meeting.

"So you see, my Lord Consul, I truly am sorry for what I have done, and I will never be able to find forgiveness. But the truth is that I never wanted to be a shadowhunter. The Clave forced me to live in their world when, quite honestly, I don't want to be part of this world. I want to be part of the mundane world, where I was born." The girl finished her rant. With a start, Aloysius realized that the girl could only be about sixteen. She was just a child. Six years older than Adele.

With that train of thought, he rose to his feet, interrupting the Consul stating his idea of a sentence, which included cursing the girl so that she could never leave an Institute again, to gain attention.

"If ah may speak, mah lor Consul," Aloysius asked, his York accent pronounced. "Yer idea of cursin' the garl is a good'n, but tha's agans' the law."

Then, Benedict Lightwood rose to his feet. In his deep voice, he said "And how is that, Starkweather?" A smirk played on his lips and sarcasm dripped from his voice.

"Ah merely mean' tha' the garl's ony' a chald. The law states tha' the council can' curse anyun' under the age of eigh'een. Is this garl eigh'een?" Aloysius raised his eyebrow in a mocking gesture toward Benedict Lightwood.

Consul Wayland bowed his head in a conceding gesture. "That is true, what would you suppose we do about it, Aloysius?"

In his deep gravelly voice, Aloysius said "Well, ah thin' tha' a dif'ren pun'shmen' should be giv'n. Norm'ly, ah would suges' cleansin' o' blood, bu' she wan's 'o be mundane, so tha' doen' seem li' pun'shmen' enouf'. Ther'for, ah suges' we for' her 'o 'rain as a shadowhun'r. tha' way, the garl is pun'shd, bu' the law in' brokn." Aloysius bowed his head toward the Consul in a respectful gesture.

The Consul pondered this for a moment. Then, he turned to look at Aloysius. "I assume you don't mean for her to go back to the London Institute. She was spying on them before."

Aloysius shook his head. "Nah, ah was suges'n she com ou' 'o the York Ins'iu'e. Ah culd 'rain 'er meself."

A low chuckle ran through the hall at the thought of Aloysius Starkweather, an eighty-nine year old man, training that girl.

However, none could deny his idea for punishment was a good one. Therefore, when the council asked "Alright then, all in favor of Aloysius Starkweather's proposal?" Almost every hand went up in the hall.

"Okay then, Mr. Starkweather, please escort Miss Lovelace here to your carriage to take with you."

* * *

><p>Brendan found himself standing in front of an old church. It was quite large, and quite nice looking, with an iron fence surrounding the terra cotta colored stones of the building. However, it had none of the grandeur of the other building in Brendan's mind.<p>

However, despite his knowledge that the other building was far grander and more beautiful, Brendan felt drawn to the church. He felt a peculiar magnetic pull toward the building that made no sense to him. It was stronger than the pull toward the larger building, it felt more demanding, more compelling.

Brendan took an heard wheels of a carriage pattering along the stone road. This snapped Brendan out of his haze. He spun around and ran toward the tunnel, his coat bottom fanning out behind him. He had to hold onto his bowler hat to keep it from flying off. But he managed to get back into the tunnel. It was grayer in the light of day. There was no direct sunlight, but the light outside the tunnel made everything gray, and the ground near the entrances lighter gray than everything else.

Brendan stood in the shadows and watched the carriage going down the tunnel. It wasn't a big carriage, Brendan noted. It was moderately sized. It was a burgundy color that somewhat blended in with the gray of the walls. But that contrasted the four interlocking, which were bright gold, and made them stand out, even in the darkness. The carriage was driven by an old man. He was hunched over and wiry. His arms, held the reins for the horses, but they were drooping and looked slightly tired.

Brendan followed the carriage out of the tunnel, carefully staying out of the sight of those riding. He had to jog slightly to keep up with the carriage, but he did so.

The man that he was looking at before was clearer in the sunlight. He had steel gray hair that was wild and long. His features were, like his arms, drooping. His cheeks were thin and sagging. He had dark circles under his eyes and his eyelids were closing, as if he was about to fall asleep. His black coat and trousers were crinkled and wrinkled. He looked like he hadn't had a good night's sleep in years, and it was clearly taking its toll.

Brendan slowed down and ran into an alley next to an old, gray building. The iron gates around the nice-looking church swung open slowly and creakily. The carriage rolled on up to the front of the church and the carriage-rider hopped of, landing heavily on his feet, and went to open the door. From the angle that he was at, Brendan couldn't see what the people looked like, but he could tell that one was an old man and the other was a girl, about his age, with blond hair. He didn't get to see anything else of the two of them because they immediately walked up to the door, her hand on his arm, and into the church. The door swung shut behind them and the carriage-rider got back in the carriage and rode around to the back.

There was something familiar about the girl. He couldn't put his finger on it but he knew. Suddenly, he remembered the girl in in dream had blond hair, but he shoved that thought aside, plenty of girls had blond hair and the girl in his dream was an angel.

Brendan shook his head and tore his gaze away from the building. He turned around, intent on heading away from the confusion, into the alley. Suddenly, he stopped dead in his tracks. His eyes widened and a cold, blue, scaly hand reached out and grabbed him around his waist.


	2. The Cell

**Disclaimer:I do not own the Infernal devices. Any chatacters that can be found in the book are the creations of Cassie Clare, you are amazing BTW**

* * *

><p>Jessamine Lovelace took the arm of Aloysius Starkweather begrudgingly. The Institute was nice enough, but nothing next to the London Institute. She remembered the castle-like feel that stopped you from seeing the ceilings. The Tapestries hanging from the walls, depicting swords, stars, and the angel rising from the lake. Though she didn't <em>miss<em> it of course, she liked the grandeur of the castle feeling.

She lifted her skirt slightly to keep it out of the small puddles. She walked with small slight steps. The church was pleasant enough. It was made of a reddish brown stone. There were four towers, only slightly taller than the actual building. The double doors were made of a deep mahogany wood and a brass doorknocker was in the center of each door.

Aloysius Starkweather was an old coot. That much she gathered from Charlotte's rants about him back at the Institute. His gray hair was chin-length and his eyes were such a dark shade of gray that they were almost black. He had a strange face. His nose was crooked and his face had slight indents all over it. He was tall, and wiry.

Aloysius led Jessamine up the gray stone steps. He pulled the door open, which resisted and moved with a CREEEAK! Jessamine walked inside and noticed the differences between the York and London Institutes. The London Institute was bright and inviting. It had an open feel about it that made anyone feel at ease inside its walls.

The York Institute was dark and dingy. There were dark pews, weathered with age, leading up to where an alter might have been beforehand. Instead, there was a door and a door off to the sides on each wall of the alter area, which was a sort of rectangular box at the end of another rectangular box that held the pews. There was next to no light. All that there was came from the dim witchlight candelabras hanging from the ceilings in two straight lines along the sides of the pews. The walls were made of dark burgundy color bricks. The windows along the sides of the walls were so covered with dirt and grime that no light got through. Jessamine couldn't think of a more depressing place.

She glowered ahead of her. In her haughty high soprano voice, she said "Where am I to sleep. It has been a long journey and I wish to go to bed." She didn't even look at Aloysius Starkweather as she talked.

"All, righ' keep yer corse' on. ELLEN!"

An old woman with dirty gray-blond hair came running out. Her skin was stark white and there were wrinkles on her forehead. Her cheeks were drooping and she had deep bags under her eyes. Her blue-gray eyes were the color of slush that you couldn't stop from getting into your house during the winter.

"Yes, Missr S'arkweather?" Her voice carries the same York accent that the others had, and her voice was high like a drawling baby, trying to say every word clearly, but failing.

"'Ake Miss Lovelace 'oo 'er room. 'Elp 'er ge' 'ressed fer bed. Alsa, 'ake 'er measr'men's so tha' you can ge' 'er some gear."

Jessamine wrinkled her nose. _Gear_ she hissed in her head. She'd been hoping that Aloysius would forget about that. Ellen nodded and turned around. She gestured sharply for Jessamine to follow. Jessamine sighed in defeat and followed.

* * *

><p>Brendan woke up on a groggily. It took him a moment to register what he was feeling. He was lying face down on the floor. The floor was cold and hard. It felt like hard stone, but there must have been a dirt layer to it for it to make Brendan's shirt damp. The air was icy and chilled.<p>

Brendan propped himself up on his elbows and looked around. He was in a dungeon of sorts. The walls looked like that of a cave, made out of dirt and grime. There was one small window at the top of the wall behind Brendan that he had to turn around to see. The wall he was facing wasn't actually a wall, but metal bars in front of the rest of the room. There was a bedraggled bed at the far corner of the room and a curtain behind which must have laid a chamber pot.

Brendan pushed himself onto his knees, and then onto his feet. He brushed the dirt and grime off of him. It took him a moment to realize that he wasn't alone. There was a boy and a girl. The girl seemed to be about Brendan's age and the boy seemed a bit younger.

Brendan had to squint to see them clearly. The way things were, he could only see the outline of their figures. The girl got up in one fluid motion and walked over to Brendan. The boy stayed sitting, but he leaned back on his elbows in a casual position. The girl continued to move forward. Her steps were quite graceful, if a little stiff. She stepped into the light and her face came into view.

Brendan took a step back. His mouth was hanging slightly open, he inhaled sharply. His eyes widen as he looks at the girl. She had blond hair the color of spun gold that hung limply around her head. Her cheeks were sallow, as if she hadn't had a proper meal in weeks. There were dark bags under her eyes that were even more pronounced in the sunlight then they would be normally. Her eyes held a wild look to them. She seemed to look as if she hadn't seen a decent person in years. Her arms were skin and bones and hung at her side. She wore a torn silver dress. It looked as if it had once been a beautiful ball gown. Now however, it looked like it had been trudged through mud, which Brendan told himself might have happened, and scraped by twigs that tore at the fabric. The dress was covered in dirt and was loose on her body. But Brendan recognized her by her deep violet eyes.

It was the angel from his dreams.

* * *

><p>Jessamine begrudgingly got out of her seat after breakfast. She wrinkled her nose in disgust, knowing that she would have to start her shadowhunter training. Ellen led her back to her room. The Institute was dark and dreary. The walls were a dark red that seemed to menacingly glow in the witchlight. There were portraits on the walls of Starkweathers that had lived in the house for generations. Jessamine didn't know much about shadowhunter etiquette, but she did know that it was bad to decorate an Institute like a family home.<p>

Jessamine sighed. She missed _her_ home. Her _real _home. The home that she lived in with her mama and papa. She missed never having to worry about demon attacks. She was a _lady_ for Christ's sake. She shouldn't learn to fight. She shouldn't even _know how_!

After her parents died, she was sent to the Institute in London. Charlotte and Henry Branwell were so kind to her. They treated her like a daughter. And she threw it in their faces. She _betrayed_ them. She was spying on them for a man that lied to her. How could she have been so stupid. Of course, Will Herondale didn't exactly make her life any easier, but she didn't make his either so it was fair. Jem, Jem Carstairs. He was so kind to her, even when she was a witch to him. Sophie, Jessamine once told Tessa that Sophie was bitter, but she was lying, not to Tessa, not intentionally anyway, but to herself. _She _was the bitter one. She was the one that hated what she had even if it was more than most others. She was horrible.

Jessamine shook her head. In her room, a large, dreary room with burgundy hangings and next to no light, Jessamine quietly changed into her shadowhunter gear. She had never paid attention to gear before. Now however, she started to notice what it was exactly. Gear was black trousers and shirt made out of leather. The leather was, she could tell, beaten down to the point that it was flexible. The shirt went down to just below her waist and was kept fitted by a thick belt tied around the waist, keeping the trousers and the shirt in place. The belt was meant to be heavy. It was meant to hold weapons. Just as she was.

* * *

><p>Brendan stared at the girl. What was she doing here? How could this angel look like this. Her wide eyes pierced into him.<p>

"Who are you?" the words left Brendan's mouth before he could stop them. _How rude,_ he chided. If he was going to ask that, he should have done it politely.

Before the girl could answer, the boy that was seated on the bed made a noise. Perhaps he was mistaken, but Brendan thought that it was a scoff. Brendan looked at the boy. _He must be her sister, _he thought. It was true, they greatly resembled each other. Both were lean framed and were small in size, though for the boy it was probably him being younger than anything else. Their cheeks were sallow from what appeared to be hunger. Also, they both had dark blue, almost violet eyes. Brendan couldn't tell the color of his hair. It could have been brown but he thought that that was because it was matted down with dirt and grime. Their time in captivity also made their skin pale and fragile looking. The only difference was that he had strange black markings on his right wrist and some up his arms. The two also shared high cheekbones, which was their most dominant similarity aside from their eyes.

The boy got up and walked over to Brendan and the girl. As he came into the light, Brendan realized that he was blond. His hair was still too dark to decipher. However, his eyebrows, thin, sharp, and upturned, were golden blond that stood out against his pale skin.

He was just as thin as the girl was, but he seemed more at eased, relaxed, then her. With an eyebrow arched, which made his slight smirk noticeable, he stared at Brendan disbelievingly.

"You don't know who we are, and you don't need to know. What's your name?" he said this with an air of confidence.

Brendan looked affronted. His Irish brogue was heavy as he replied "So you don't need to answer my question, but I need to answer your?" The boy raised his eyebrows and looked up, while swinging his head back and forth like an upside down pendulum that only moved an inch or two in either direction in a matter of mock contemplation. "Fine then, I have nothing to hide. My name is Brendan Trueblood."

The girl stepped in front of her brother, shielding him from view. However, it seemed almost like she was protecting Brendan from her brother's mocking stare. "Please excuse my brother. We've been in here for over a year." Her voice was scratchy, as if she hadn't used it consistently in a long time. "I am Tanya Midwinter. This is my brother, Caleb."

Brendan nodded. He walked over to the cell bars slowly., butting one foot in front of the other as if the ground was about to fall inward. He stopped inches from the bars. Brendan looked closely at the bars. They were made of metal, maybe iron? It was dark and…luminous? When he looked at it closer, Brendan realized that he was right. The bars were glowing slightly red. It was coming from the red markings that covered all of the bars. They seemed to be sizzling slightly. Brendan didn't know what the problem was, but the markings seemed evil.

Brendan didn't know what possessed him. However, he reached out toward the bar. "Don't!" Tanya cried, but Brendan was beyond listening.

As soon as his finger touched the bar, a sharp burn greeted it. Brendan cried out in pain as his body seized up. Brendan tried to jerk away, but his hand seemed infused with the metal. Suddenly, a sharp jolt went through Brendan's body. He was sharply pulled forward. Then, he was hurled backward, his hand being freed in the process. Oomph! Brendan hit the wall. He fell forward like a pushed bookshelf and landed on his face with a FLUMP!

Tanya ran over to him limply. She kneeled down next to him. Her slim fingered hands gently caressed Brendan's face, looking for any damage. Her eyes held a warmth that Brendan hadn't seen in a real person since his parents died. She smiled slightly, tilting her head to the side. She reached to the side and gently took Brendan's hand. She pulled it up to her face, to study the burn markings, Brendan guessed. She nodded her head slightly and pushed herself up, still holding Brendan's hand. Then, she pulled Brendan's arm while he tried to push himself up off the ground.

When he was back on his feet, Tanya let go of Brendan's hand, though somewhat reluctantly. Brendan brushed the dirt off of his waistcoat, wincing in the process. He looked at his hands carefully. There were red blisters blossoming over the fingertips and palm. Brendan swore under his breath, but he regretted it. Tanya was so close that it was impossible for her not to hear him.

She smiled crookedly. "I tried to warn you. Those are demon runes. They're meant to burn whoever touches them. Our kind especially." She walked over to the bed and sat down next to her brother, who must have sat down while Brendan wasn't paying attention. They both seemed so relaxed. Caleb was leaning back on his elbows with his head tilted back, a clear symbol of relaxation. Tanya sat straight, but she seemed at ease.

Her brother rolled his eyes. "As enjoyable as it was to watch Brendan get thrown across the cell, maybe we should get back to the problem at hand. Elijah almost has everything that he needs."

Brendan looked at him. He narrowed his eyes and tilted his head to the side quizzically. "Who's Elijah, and what does he need?"

Caleb let out a deep exasperated breath. Beside him, Tanya giggled, putting her hand lightly over her mouth. Caleb rolled his eyes and looked at Brendan. "Elijah is a warlock. He kidnapped all of us with the assistance of a Feaelorian Demon. What he needs is to get his hands on four shadowhunter children, two boys and two girls. He has the three of us. That means that he only needs one more girl. Also, from the whispers that we've heard from him, he's close to getting her. He needs to wait for a new moon, that's two weeks from now. On that night, the darkest night of the month, he must kill each of us, drain our blood, and soak an amulet in it, giving him the power to summon more demons then he can right now. We can't let him, but we don't know how to stop him."

* * *

><p>"Gottshall," Jessamine cried. She was walking down the staircase. She held the skirt of her dress slightly with her petite hands.<p>

Jessamine's body was still slightly damp from her bath. Her hair, perfectly curled and styled, was still slightly wet. Her skin, though dry, still had a feel to it that made it apparent that her skin was recently wet.

Her rose pink dress had flower patterns along the skirt. The dress was low cut and had frilly lace along the hems. She chose the specific dress because it brought out the color of her pale brown eyes and creamy skin.

"Yes ma' lady," Gottshall asked, his deep, gravelly voice made his York accent pronounced. Gottshall waited at the bottom of the staircase. His dark eyes were questioning

"Gottshall, prepare the carriage. I wish to go to the park." Jessamine's voice was haughty, but there was something else. She was slightly out of breath. Even though it had been over an hour since her training.

Gottshall nodded. He bowed his head and turned around. He walked up the aisle with a slight limp. He left the church after a moment. The door closed with a CLANK!

Jessamine sighed. She lifted the skirt of her dress slightly and walked over to a pew in the front row. She sat down lightly. As she waited, she contemplated her life. Many things came to mind. However, one of the largest thoughts kept standing out. She hated being a shadowhunter. She started to think about her first training session.

* * *

><p><em>Jessamine felt naked. True, she was in shadowhunter gear that covered more skin then any dress that she ever wore. But without the large skirt, she felt truly naked.<em>

_She entered the training room reluctantly. Aloysius was already there. He stood in his black shadowhunter gear with a straight back and a firm build. His gray-black eyes pierced into Jessamine. She shivered slightly. His gray beard was trimmed prim and proper,, but it made him seem even more menacing. In his hand, he held a blunt-edged short sword._

"_Alright' Lassie," Aloysius asked, his gravelly voice ringing with authority. And humor. "Le's ge' this o'er with."_

_Jessamine nodded. She slowly walked over to the weapon wall. She scanned over all of the weapons. One thing in particular caught her eye. It was a long rod, painted black with silver runes along it. at the top, there was a blade. The blade was serrated and had runes of a solid black along its silver frame._

"_Ahh," Jessamine heard Aloysius say. "So you've found yerself the naginada. A fine weapon. Le's see if you 'ave wha' i 'akes." Jessamine heard the clump clump of his feet as he came toward her. The hairs on the back of her neck stood on end. She could see Aloysius' shadow on the wall as he stood behind her. His arm reached over her shoulder and grabbed the handle of the naginata. He lifted it off the wall and pulled it toward him, being careful to avoid Jessamine, and turned away._

_Jessamine turned, and saw that Aloysius wave his hand for her to follow. He was leading her toward a practice dummy. She hesitantly followed after him, and she stopped about five feet from Aloysius, hoping to avoid the blade._

_Then, he swung the blade in a circular motion. Jessamine's eyes widened as she stared. Aloysius raised the blade out in front of him and began to swing it around his head. His arm guided the blade in a circular motion. Then, after three swings around, his other hand shot up to grip the middle of the rod, and he brought the naginata down in a sharp slice through the middle of the dummy, severing it in tow easily._

_He laughed maniacally. "Ha! Ah be' no one at th' Lon'dn Insi'ute coul do 'At! Haa"_

* * *

><p>Jessamine shook her head at the memory. She was ashamed to say that the naginata attracted her. She loved the idea of wielding that much power. And it disgusted her. The idea of her learning to love being a shadowhunter was scary, especially since she had spent her whole life trying to avoid shadowhunter culture.<p>

Her thoughts were interrupted by the sharp _Tap, tap, tap_ of Gottshall walking down the aisle. Jessamine turned her head to see him limping down the aisle toward her. Jessamine got up and walked over to him. he held out his arm for her to take and she did.

She walked with him, limping, by her side up the aisle. In front of the door, Gottshall let go of Jessamine's arm and pushed the door open. He then held out his arm for Jessamine to take and they walked down the front steps of the Institute

The sky was a dull, cloudy grey. Very little light filtered through the overcast. The ground was wet from the rain the night before. Jessamine had to be careful to hold her skirt high enough to stop it from getting wet.

They stopped in front of the carriage, which Gottshall then helped Jessamine into. Jessamine wrinkled her nose. The Carriage smelled like peppermint.

Gottshall closed the carriage door and limped to the front of the carriage. Even through the door, Jessamine could hear the splish splash of Gottshall's footsteps. Once he got back into the carriage, there was a sharp CRACK! And they were off.

Jessamine gazed out the window. The grey buildings rolled by in an inconsequential blur. Many people were out and about. Women with parasols were walking around with children, sometimes accompanied by their husbands. There were venders along the side of the road. Some carriages were stationed along the side of the road, large blocks on the sides of the road.

However, despite everything, Jessamine still ached for home. Not the large brick house that she was used to longing for. No, she longed for the large Institute in London with the familiarity of those she had grown to love. She threw it all away.

This place wasn't the same. Despite the city feel of York, the entire area was lacking. It had a distinct country feel to it. The people along the sides of the road had a country look about em. Jessamine wrinkled her nose as she saw one man with a frayed grey suit and untucked shirt walk by. Even the scenery was a different kind of city. Everything seemed smaller compared to London.

As she rode down the path, the sky began to clear. Sun peaked through the insubstantial cloud coverage. Jessamine could see the clouds dispersing. _Yes, _Jessamine thought. _This will be a lovely day._

They stopped at the park. Here, there were women walking. There were children playing in the grass, and married couples of all ages walking together. Everything was peaceful, but something unnerved Jessamine.

In a great oak branch, she saw a small child. The child had grass green skin and darker green spiked hair. The child's arms had thorns protruding from them like the stems of a rose.

Hiding in between two trees, slightly covered by a bush and darkness, was another. This one had a light pink body that led up to the top of her head, which was a large pink rose. Her eyes were a large deep green, entirely green with no white. Her arms, which were touching the tree slightly, had open petals like sleeves at her wrists.

Running into a bush was another of the Fair Folk. This one sent shivers down Jessamine's spine. It was short, about a foot tall, and had wrinkly, fleshy, pink and orangish skin. It had sharp pointed ears and scrunched up features. It wore a tattered, dirty, beige shirt and dirty brown pants.

Jessamine knew what it was. Goblin. Just like the one that attacked her and Tessa in the park. The first creature that she killed. That day was forever branded in her mind. Talking to Tessa. Accidentally wandering off of the trail. Talking to the goblin. It attacking her. The ride home with Tessa. Talking with Tessa in her room.

Jessamine shook the thoughts violently from her mind. There was no need to remember that fateful day, was it only weeks ago? Jessamine glided through the park on her own. She had told Gottshall to leave her be. The park was alight with activity. People were everywhere. Families. Jessamine turned on her family and she will forever regret it.

Jessamine suddenly realized her surroundings. She was on her own in the trees. She had wandered off the trail. _Not again,_ Jessamine mentally groaned.

Suddenly, as if out of thin air, a scaly blue claw grabbed her. Jessamine shrieked before everything went black.

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